We have just studied the civil and the military household of the Emperor in 1805; let us now study the Empress's household at the same period.
The Empress's First Almoner was a bishop, a great lord, Ferdinand de Rohan. Her Maid of Honor was a relative of her first husband, the Duchess de La Rochefoucauld, called in the Imperial Almanack of 1805 simply Madame Chastulé de La Rochefoucauld. She was short and deformed, but distinguished, for her intelligence, tact, and wit, void of ambition, with no taste for intrigue, who only reluctantly accepted the position of Maid of Honor, and often wanted to hand in her resignation. The Lady of the Bedchamber was Madame de Lavalette, a Beauharnais, an able and affectionate woman, who immortalized herself, in the early days of the Restoration, by saving her husband's life by her heroism.
To the four Ladies of the Palace at the beginning of the Empire, Madame de Luçay, Madame de Rémusat, Madame de Talhouët, Madame de Lauriston, were added thirteen other ladies: Madame Duchâtel, Madame de Séran, Madame de Colbert, Madame Savary, Madame Octave de Ségur, Madame de Turenne, Madame de Montalivet, Madame de Bouillé, Madame de Vaux, Madame de Marescot.
The Maid of Honor was for the Empress what the Grand Chamberlain was for the Emperor. The Lady of the Bedchamber's duties corresponded to those of the Keeper of the Wardrobe. The Ladies of the Palace were, so to speak, female chamberlains.
"We were all," said the Duchess of Abrantès, "at that time radiant with a sort of glory which women seek as eagerly as men do theirs, that of elegance and beauty. Among the young women composing the court of the Empress and that of the Princesses it would have been hard to find a single ill-favored woman, and there were very many whose beauty made, with no exaggeration, the greatest ornament of the festivities held every day in that fairy-like time."
All the Ladies of the Palace were young, and almost all were remarkable for their beauty. Among the most conspicuous was Madame Ney, a niece of Madame Campan; Madame Lannes, whose face recalled the most charming pictures of Raphael, and above all, the wife of an already aged Councillor of State, Madame Duchâtel (whose son was Minister of the Interior in the reign of Louis Philippe, and whose grandson was Ambassador of the Republic at Vienna). The Duchess of Abrantès thus describes this famous beauty: "There is one woman in the Imperial court who made her appearance in society shortly before the coronation, whose portrait is drawn in all the contemporary memoirs, especially in those written by a woman, and that is Madame Duchâtel. Madame Duchâtel would not serve as a model for a sculptor, because her features lack the regularity which his art requires. The indefinable charm of her face, a charm which words are unable to convey, lay in dark blue eyes, with long, silken, lashes, in a delicate, gracious, refined smile, which, disclosed teeth of ivory whiteness, and, moreover, beautiful light hair, small hands and feet, a general elegance which matched a really remarkable mind. All these things formed a combination which first attracted and then attached every one to her."
Josephine's First Chamberlain, in 1805, was the General of DivisionNansouty; the chamberlain who introduced the ambassadors was M. deBeaumont; there were four ordinary chamberlains, MM. d'Aubusson-Lafeuillade, de Galard-Béarn. de Coutomer; de Gavre; a First Equerry,Senator de Harville; two equerries, Colonel Fowler and General Bonardy deSaint Sulpice; a private secretary, M. Deschamps. The Council of theEmpress's household was composed of the Maid of Honor, the Lady of theBedchamber, the First Chamberlain, and the First Equerry. The privatesecretary was also the secretary of the Council. The Chief Steward of thehousehold was also a member.
The Lady of the Bedchamber had under her orders a first woman of the bedchamber, Madame Aubert, who had whole charge of the wardrobe. Madame Saint-Hilaire held this place under Josephine, as Madame Campan had done under Marie Antoinette. Madame Saint-Hilaire's duties consisted in supervising the chamberwork, in receiving the Empress's orders about the hours of her rising, and of her morning and evening toilet. The first woman of the Bedchamber had what were called the honors of the service when the Maid of Honor and the Lady of the Bedchamber were absent. The Empress had also ushers and women who discharged the same duties, six ordinary chambermaids, a reader, the beautiful Madame Gazani; four ordinary valets de chambre, and two footmen, trusted men always in the ante-chamber. The ushers, who remained without the drawing-room where the Empress was, never opened both the doors to their full width except for the Princes and Princesses of the Imperial family; and they could not leave their posts except to ask the Maid of Honor the names of those who were waiting to be presented. There were two pages in the Empress's service; the older carried the train of her dress when she left her apartments, and got in or out of a carriage; the other walked before her.
The Empress's apartment consisted of an apartment of honor and an inner apartment. The first consisted of an ante-chamber, the first drawing-room, the second drawing-room, the dining-room, the music-room, the other, of the bedroom, the library, dressing-room, boudoir, bath-room. The entrance to the Empress's apartment was controlled by etiquette like that to the Emperor's.
Josephine played her part as sovereign as easily as if she had been born on the steps of the throne. "One of her charms," says the Duchess of Abrantès, "was not merely her graceful figure, but the way she held her head, and the gracious dignity with which she walked and turned. I have had the honor of being presented to many real princesses, as they are called, in the Faubourg Saint Germain, and I can truly say that I have never seen one more imposing than Josephine. She combined elegance and majesty. Never did any queen so grace a throne without having been trained to it."
Josephine had all the qualities that are attractive in a sovereign: affability, gentleness, kindliness, generosity. She had a way of convincing every one of her personal interest. She had an excellent memory, and surprised those with whom she talked by the exactness with which she recalled the past, even to details they had themselves nearly forgotten. The sound of her gentle, penetrating, and sympathetic voice added to the courtesy and charm of her words. Every one listened to her with pleasure; she spoke with grace and listened courteously. She wanted no one to go away from her annoyed. She always appeared to be doing a kindness, and thus inspired affection and gratitude. Her courtiers and her suite were her friends. Madame de Rémusat, who was never too favorable, was forced to recognize the charm which Josephine exercised over the court by her tact, intelligence, and dignity. "The Empress," she says, "is enchanted to be surrounded by a large suite, and it gratifies her vanity. Her success in attaching Madame de La Rochefoucauld to her person, her pleasure in counting MM. d'Aubusson, de Lafeuillade among her chamberlains, Madame d'Arbry, Madame de Ségur, and the wives of the marshals among the ladies of the palace, turned her head a little, but even this feminine joy did not lessen her usual graciousness; she always succeeded in maintaining her rank, even when most deferential to those men and women who lent it a new lustre by their brilliant names." She was very kind, extremely soft-hearted, and always overwhelming her companions with attentions and regards. Mademoiselle Avrillon, her reader, says: "I do not believe that there ever lived a woman with a better character, or with a less changeable disposition." She never dared to utter a word of blame or reproach. "If one of her ladies," said Constant, the Emperor's valet de chambre, "ever gave her cause for dissatisfaction, the only punishment she inflicted was to maintain absolute silence for one, two, three days, a week, more or less, according to the seriousness of the case. Well! this punishment, apparently so slight, was for most of them very severe. The Empress knew so well how to make herself beloved!"
Her only fault was extravagance. She had an unbounded love of luxury and dress. The jewel-case which had belonged to Marie Antoinette was too small for Josephine. One day when she wanted to show some ladies all her jewels, a great table had to be arranged to hold the cases, and, since that was not enough, much more of the furniture was covered by them. Josephine had the fault that accompanies this quality, for generous persons are commonly lavish. Her extravagant expenditures came from her kindliness. She had not the heart to dismiss a tradesman without buying something of him, and it never entered her head to try to beat him down. Often she bought for vast sums things she did not want, simply to oblige the dealers. There was no limit to her liberality. She would have liked to own all the treasures of the earth in order to give them all away. She sought for opportunities for alms-giving. Many of the émigrés lived entirely on her bounty. She was always in active correspondence with the sisters of charity. She was the Providence of the poor, and did good with delicacy, tact, and discretion. Giving is not all; the art lies in knowing how to give. She seemed to be the debtor of those to whom she made gifts. Naturally, with this disposition, she got into debt. But Napoleon was there to help her; and since he was economical by nature, he grew angry and scolded his extravagant wife, and ended by paying.
In fact, Napoleon could refuse Josephine nothing, and she was really the only woman who had any influence over him. If he opposed her, she had an infallible resource in her tears. She knew thoroughly her husband's character. She knew how to speak to that mind and heart. She busied herself with seeking what could please, with divining his wishes, with anticipating his slightest desires. If he was the least ailing or annoyed she was literally at his feet, and then he could not live without her. He felt that when misfortune came Josephine alone would be able to console him. She had brought him happiness with her gentleness, her tenderness, her devotion; she had well deserved to receive the crown from his hands.
Josephine appeared to have every wish, satisfied; her good fortune exceeded her wildest dreams; never had a more wonderful romance actually happened, and yet the Empress of the French, the Queen of Italy, was not happy. A cruel passion which brings no pleasures, but only cruel sufferings, disturbed her happiness and tormented her heart. This passion, jealousy, which had tortured Napoleon in the early days of his wedded life, now Josephine in her turn had to endure with all its keen anguish. She felt that for her, a woman of forty-one, to hold fast the affections of a man of thirty-five, covered with glory and full of charm, was a difficult task; but this reflection, far from consoling her, only disturbed her the more, and she made desperate efforts to triumph in an almost hopeless contest. As was said by Mademoiselle Avrillon, her reader, she seemed not to understand that if the highest rank is a safeguard for a woman, because few men are bold enough to pursue her, the same is not true of a sovereign whose glory dazzles the inexperience of the young, and whose slightest attention arouses coquetry and flatters vanity.
Josephine had not a moment's peace. In the hope of pleasing her, many women of the court, who were, so to speak, on the watch for the Emperor's attentions, hastened to torture her with their interested revelations. For several years now her beauty had been fading. Napoleon, on the other hand, had never been better looking. His health, which formerly had been delicate, had much improved. He had grown stouter, and this was very becoming. His head was like that of a Caesar. Full of self-confidence, fortunate, flattered on every side, at the height of power, he imagined that in love, as in war, he had but to appear to say,veni, vidi, vici, "I came, I saw, I conquered." Many of the beauties of the time did their best to confirm him in this good opinion of himself, and as Madame de Rémusat says of him, he in his court was not unlike the Grand Turk in his harem.
"The Emperor," we read in Constant's Memoirs, "used to say that a good man was to be known by the way he treated his wife, his children, and his servants. He added that immorality was the most dangerous vice a sovereign could have, because it established a precedent for his subjects. What he meant by immorality, was giving scandalous publicity to relations which should have been kept secret; these relations he was by no means disposed to refuse when they presented themselves before him." The faithful valet de chambre goes on in an attempt to defend his master: "Others perhaps would have succumbed oftener. Heaven forbid that I should undertake to apologize for him; I will even acknowledge that he did not always practise what he preached, but it was none the less a good deal for a sovereign to hide his distractions from the public, to prevent scandal, and, what is worse imitation; and from his wife, to save her pain."
Napoleon was by no means so indifferent to women as he professed to be. He was averse to being ruled by them, but he was far from being insensible to their charms. Opposition exasperated him; all his caprices found many obsequious allies ready to further his suit, and more than one woman made a deep, if brief, impression upon him. His disdain of woman has, we are sure, been much exaggerated. At Saint Helena he declaimed against women, but his remarks were mere paradoxes, not meant to be taken seriously.
Count Las Cases, in theMemorial, reports these remarks of the Emperor to the ladies who shared, his captivity. "We Occidentals," he said, with a smile full of malice, "have spoiled women by treating them too well. We have made the mistake of raising them almost to an equality with ourselves. The Orientals showed more intelligence and justice: they declared they were men's property; and, in fact, nature has made them our slaves, and it is only by our whimsicalness that they presume to be our sovereigns; they abuse their advantages to mislead and control us. For one who inspires us to our good there are a hundred who make us do stupid things." Then he went on to praise polygamy in a very unchivalrous and unsentimental way, saying ironically: "What cause of complaint do you have, after all? Have we not acknowledged that you have a soul? You know that there are philosophers who have weighed it. Do you claim equality? But that is absurd; women are our property, we are not theirs; for she gives us children, men give them none. So she is his property, as a fruit- tree is a gardener's property. Nothing but a lack of judgment, of common sense, and a defective education, can make a woman think that she is her husband's equal. And there is nothing degrading in the difference; each sex has its qualities and its duties: your qualities are beauty, grace, charm; your duties are dependence and submission."
Napoleon was often malicious with women; often he teased them; but at heart he honored faithful wives and good mothers. His ideas were far more moral than those of the men of the Directory, and his court was far purer than that of the kings of France. We will add that Josephine was the only woman he ever loved for a long time and seriously. The others appealed to his senses, not to his heart.
Fortunately for herself, Josephine had a shallow character; her impressions were keen, but evanescent. The pleasures of sovereignty outweighed the griefs. She felt that the crown was heavy at times, but it adorned her and kept her young; and in spite of the jealousy it gave rise to, the court satisfied her vanity and brought her sufficient consolation. To the satisfaction of her pride she found another purer and more lasting emotion, which she valued more, in the opportunity of doing good. She had, besides, passed through so many vicissitudes in her life that nothing could surprise her, and her soul, accustomed to suffering, was prepared for the most violent emotions, the most terrible anguish. She wept readily, but her tears were soon dried; the rainbow followed close upon the storm, and Josephine would smile through her tears.
While Napoleon, proud in the possession of his new empire, was exhibiting at the Tuileries his vast power and grandeur, the same palace was inhabited by a holy old man, whose humility presented a marked contrast with the conqueror's haughty spirit. Pius VII., who was quartered in the Pavilion of Flora, led the life of an anchorite, with all the modesty and piety of an old monk, fasting every day as in his convent, and edifying even the impious by the nimbus that shone around his pale and mystic face. It was impossible to approach this worthy Vicar of Christ without a filial feeling of tenderness. The crimes of the French Revolution—the massacre or the execution of the priests, the profanation of the altars, the persecutions and blasphemies—had imprinted the stamp of melancholy on his face. It was easy to see that he lamented the barbarities of the times, and that his life had been full of anguish. He embodied all the sufferings of the Church. With his ascetic air, his deep-set eye, his complexion as pallid as ivory, his white robes tinged with red, the Sovereign Pontiff had in his whole person something strange and imposing. He occupied the apartment on the first floor of the Pavilion of Flora, where Madame Elisabeth had lived from October, 1789, to August 10, 1792. The Abbé Proyart, the author of the letter to the prisoner of the Temple, came to offer the Pope a copy of this same life of Madame Louise of France, which he had long since offered to the sister of Louis XVI.
"I am living here," said Pius VII., "in the apartments of another saint."What singular vicissitudes! The same place occupied in turn by MadameElisabeth, the members of the Committee of Public Safety, and by the Vicarof Christ!
The Pope had been very anxious before he started for Paris. His fears were so great that just as he was leaving Rome, with a presentiment of the captivity that awaited him, he had left his abdication in the hands of Cardinal Consalvi, in case he should suffer any violence during his journey. It was only with trembling and prayer that he had set foot on the volcanic soil of France, which, from a distance, seemed alive with impiety and terror. The unfailing respect with which he had been treated had comforted him somewhat. Whenever he visited a church, the Parisians followed him with mingled curiosity, sympathy, and veneration: they knelt to him as he passed them, and received with all decorum his apostolic benediction. Every day a large crowd gathered under his windows. He had found his rooms arranged and furnished like those he occupied at the Vatican, and he had been very grateful for this, which he called a really filial attention.
General de Ségur, at that time captain and aide of the Grand Marshal of the Palace, was entrusted with guarding the Pope's person. He says in his Memoirs: "The same attention and respect was shown to the Pope as to the Emperor himself. His rooms had been so arranged and furnished as to recall Rome so far as possible, and to suit his tastes. As for Napoleon, we all noticed his ever gentle and grateful gaiety, and his filial and affectionate deference to his guest. When the Holy Father gave his blessing from his window, and more especially at his audiences in the gallery of the Louvre, which were always crowded, precautions were taken against any outbreak of the indiscretion or levity to which the French are prone. We saw the atheist Lalande himself fall at the Pontiff's feet and kiss his slipper. In the public buildings which the Pope honored with his presence he was received as a sovereign. No one dared to betray more curiosity than piety; and it often happened to me to see this real saint, the successor of the Apostles, whose venerable face bore the stamp of the serenest gentleness, so frugal, simple, and austere for himself alone, and so kindly indulgent to others, deeply moved by the intense and holy impression he made."
Every day the long gallery of the Louvre was filled with two rows of men and women who had come to ask his blessing. Preceded by the governor of the Louvre, and followed by the Italian cardinals and nobles of his household, Pius VII. advanced slowly between the two lines of the faithful, often stopping to place his hand on some child's head, to say some kind words to its mother, and to offer his ring to be kissed. One day, when he was surrounded by a crowd of prostrate and respectful people, he saw a man whose worn face bore traces of irreligious passion, who was moving away as if to escape the apostolic benediction. The Holy Father approached him, and said gently, "Do not run away; an old man's blessing has never done any one any harm." This remark spread through Paris and made a most favorable impression. Pius VII. was not only respected, but, if we may use the worldly phrase, he became the fashion. Dealers in rosaries and chaplets made much money all that winter. In January alone a shopkeeper in the rue Saint Denis who sold those articles is said to have cleared forty thousand francs. All who approached the Pope had chaplets blessed for themselves, their relatives, and friends in Paris and the provinces. "The prolonged stay of the Holy Father," says Bourrienne, "was not without influence in the return to religious ideas, so great was the respect inspired by the Pope's gentle appearance and kindly manners. When, the time came for him to be persecuted, it would have been desirable that Pius VII. had never come to Paris, for it was impossible to look upon him otherwise than as a man whose holy gentleness was a matter of notoriety."
At Saint Helena, Napoleon spoke thus of this venerable Pope: "He was really a lamb, a thoroughly good and upright man, whom I greatly esteem and love, and who, I am sure, does not wholly hate me."
It has been asserted that the Pope made such an impression in Paris that the Emperor felt for the august old man a sort of secret jealousy. But even granting, what is by no means certain, that he suffered from this, he had at least skill to conceal it. Always the Pope was overwhelmed with flattering attentions. The President of the Legislative Body, M. de Fontanes, said to him November 30, 1804: "Everything else has changed; religion alone knows no change. It sees the families of kings, and those of subjects, perish; but resting on the ruins of thrones, it ever admires the successive manifestations of the eternal designs and obeys them with confidence. Never has the universe beheld a more imposing sight, never have its people received more important lessons. This is no longer the time of rivalry between the priesthood and the Empire. They have joined hands to repel the fatal doctrines which threatened Europe with total overthrow. May they yield forever to the double influence of politics and religion combined! Doubtless this wish will not be disappointed; never in France has there been so great a genius to control its policy, and never has the pontifical throne presented to the Christian world a more worthy and more touching model." TheMoniteur, in its report of the coronation, spoke with the same official enthusiasm "of the most venerable apostolic virtues and of the most astounding political genius crowned by the highest destinies." David, the artist, once a member of the Convention and a regicide, then an Imperialist, painted the portrait of Pius VII., and theMoniteurin the number of March 30, 1805, thus praised the picture and the sitter. "A large crowd gathered in the gallery of the Senate, to see the portrait of His Holiness by M. David, member of the Institute and first painter to the Emperor. This portrait is in every way worthy of the master's reputation. If the first essential in a portrait is an exact likeness, this one possesses it to a very high degree. The head, which is admirably painted, expresses the indulgent and wise character, the gentleness and reasonableness, that are so conspicuous in the model; the eyes an expression, affectionate and paternal; the expression of the mouth is most striking; one feels that it can utter only words of peace, consolation, and truth."
Josephine had for Pius VII. a feeling of veneration full of gratitude. She was most grateful to him for having persuaded Napoleon, to have the religious marriage for which she had long yearned. She, who had preserved her faith, in the midst of an irreligious society, was happy to inhabit the same palace, to live under the same roof, with the Vicar of Christ, and firmly hoped thereby to secure good fortune for herself and her husband. For his part, Pius VII. appreciated Josephine's good qualities, especially her charity: he treated her as an indulgent father treats his child.
The second son of Louis Bonaparte and Hortense de Beauharnais was baptized by the Pope himself at Saint Cloud, March 27, 1805. The ceremony was most impressive. Eight Imperial carriages conveyed thither Pius VII. and his suite. The gallery of the palace had been turned into a chapel. In one of the Empress's drawing-rooms had been placed, on a platform, beneath a canopy, a bed without posts. On the foot of the bed had been spread a large cloak lined with ermine, to cover the child. In the same room were two tables on which were placed what were called the child'shonors; that is to say, the candle, the chrisom-cap, and the salt-cellar, and thehonorsof the godfather and godmother,—the basin, the ewer, and the napkin. The towel was placed on a square of golden brocade, and all the other things, except the candle, on a gold tray. Preceded by the Grand Master of Ceremonies, and followed by a colonel-general of the Guard, by the Grand Almoner, the Grand Chamberlain, and the Master of the Hounds, the Emperor, who was godfather, and the godmother, Madame Bonaparte, his mother, went to the room where the ceremony was to be performed. The child was uncovered by Madame de Villeneuve, Maid of Honor to Princess Louis Bonaparte, and by Madame de Boubers, who was serving as governess. The first one lifted up the baby and handed him to the godfather, who gave him to Madame de Boubers to carry to the font. The Grand Master of Ceremonies handed the salt-cellar to Madame de Bouillé, the chrisom-cap to Madame de Montalivet, the candle to Madame Lannes, the towel to Madame de Sérant, the ewer to Madame Savary, the basin to Madame de Talhouët. Then, they went to the gallery, which had been turned into a chapel. Mesdames Bernadotte, Bessières, Davout, and Mortier held the corners of the Empress's cloak. The godmother was at the Emperor's left. After the baptism the child was carried back to his room with the same procession.
That eveningAthaliewas given, with choruses, at the court theatre. The company on their way thither passed through the orange house, which was aglow with colored lanterns.
All day the park of Saint Cloud had been open to the public; the fountains had been playing; shows of all sorts amused the crowd; the road to Paris was crowded with carriages and foot-passengers. In the evening there were fireworks: the palace and gardens were illuminated; there were bands playing, and rustic balls.
The Pope, who had reached Paris November 28, 1804, left April 4, 1805, just when the Emperor was starting for Italy, there to be crowned at Milan. Pius VII. had received some magnificent presents from the Emperor: a gold altar with chandeliers, and the sacred vessels of rich workmanship, a superb tiara, some gobelin tapestries, carpets from the Savonnerie, and a statue of Napoleon in Sèvres ware. The Empress had given him a valuable vase decorated by the best artists. TheMoniteurthus announced the Pope's departure: "To-day, April 4, at half-past twelve, His Holiness left Paris with the prelates and others of his suite. A crowd of both sexes and all ages assembled on the way he was to pass through, and received the Sovereign Pontiff's blessing; once more he was the object of expressions of the deepest veneration, and plainly manifested the emotions which these expressions called forth."
Yet Pius VII. was not wholly satisfied with his journey. He had received much homage, but he had not secured any real political concessions of any importance. He had been unable to settle the important matter of the organic statutes, and nothing had been done about the restoration of the legation on which he was so warmly set. Besides, he was much annoyed that he had not himself crowned Napoleon, as the Popes, his predecessors, had crowned emperors and kings. He, who later was to be a prisoner at Fontainebleau, went away distressed about the present, anxious for the future, and wondering whether his host might not say, with Voltaire, "It is all very well to kiss the Popes' feet, but it is better to have their hands tied first."
The Pope had left Paris to return to Rome April 4, 1805. At almost the same time the Emperor and Empress had started from Fontainebleau to go to Milan, where Napoleon was to be crowned King of Italy. The code of etiquette that prevailed at the Tuileries was observed on journeys. The house in which the Emperor lodged at any stopping-place was the place where all who accompanied him were to meet. A great placard on which were written all the names, and where they were to be quartered, was pasted on the front door. In the villages where Napoleon spent but one night he received the local authorities, either before or after dinner. In the towns where he spent more than one day, after he had eaten his breakfast and held his receptions, he rode out to visit the fortifications and monuments. The evenings were generally taken up by the entertainments offered him.
The Emperor and Empress reached Troyes April 2. A letter dated the 3d was printed in theMoniteur. It said: "Everywhere the presence of the Emperor has evoked the liveliest applause; the people seem astonished to see him wearing such a modest uniform, and conspicuous, in the midst of his court, by the plainness of his dress. The people of this department exhibit this joy all the more because it is here that was brought up the man who was destined to raise France to the highest glory and prosperity. It is at Brienne that the Emperor received his earliest instruction. His Majesty, being anxious to revisit the places that recall these agreeable memories, started at two o'clock to-day for Brienne."
On the steps of the castle in this town Napoleon found Madame de Brienne and Madame de Loménie, who had been the guardians of his childhood. He treated them with the greatest respect, and took pleasure in recalling happy and touching memories of the past. He recalled many anecdotes, and told them in his usual vivid, picturesque way. He accepted their invitation to dinner, played cards with them, and having found out their usual time of going to bed, asked to be shown at that hour to the room which had been prepared for him at his request. At dawn the next morning he went alone, without escort, to see some of his old walks in the neighborhood. He remembered a hut where he and his companions used to lunch, and recognizing the wood in which it was, he rode through the shady path that led to it.
It belonged to a woman who in old times used to serve nuts, cheese, and brown bread to the schoolboy of Brienne, the future Emperor. He was delighted to see her once more, and asked her for the same repast which had formerly been his delight. At first the poor woman did not recognize the stranger; but gradually he refreshed her memory by recalling many incidents of the past. Then she understood that she was in the presence of the all-powerful Emperor, and flung herself at his feet. Napoleon lifted her, and left her a purse of gold, promising as he left to provide for her old age.
The Emperor and Empress arrived at Lyons April 10. A quarter of a league from the city, on the Boucle road, stood a triumphal arch, on the top of which, as in the reign of Augustus, was perched an eagle supporting the conqueror's bust. On the two side doors were two bas-reliefs, one representing the union of the Empire and Liberty; the other, Wisdom, in the figure of Minerva distributing crosses of honor to soldiers, artists, and scholars. On these two bas-reliefs were statues of the Rhone and the Seine. At the top of the arch was a flattering inscription in verse.
April 12, the Empress held a reception. TheBulletin of Lyonsthus described it: "The assembly was most brilliant. As our sovereign has exhibited in his audiences profundity, affability, exact and varied learning, and true greatness, so his august wife has shone with grace, courtesy, and gentleness. Thus we witness a revival of that old French urbanity and politeness of manners which have always distinguished our court, and have made it an example and an object of admiration for all foreign courts."
The city offered Napoleon and Josephine an entertainment at the Grand Theatre. The back-scene represented the Emperor, seated, clad in a long triumphal robe. Two allegoric figures, representing, one, France, the other, Italy, with their feet resting on clouds, held in their hands a roll bearing this inscription:Sublimi feriam sidera vertice, "I shall strike the stars with my lofty head"; with the other, they each offered a crown to Napoleon. Thus did flattery renew the apotheoses of the Caesars of ancient Rome.
There was sung a cantata entitledOssian's Dream. The young men of the National Guard of Lyons and the leading ladies of the city waltzed before the throne. Two young girls held each a basket into which the dancers threw flowers as they passed by; out of these flowers the girls wove two crowns which, after the dance, they presented to the Emperor and Empress.
April 29, Napoleon and Josephine were present at a grand performance at the Grand Theatre in Turin. They stayed at the castle of Stupinizi, just outside of the city, where they bade farewell to Pius VII., who had celebrated the Easter festival at Lyons, and was on his way to Rome.
The Emperor and the Empress reached Alessandria May 2, at ten in the morning, amid the roar of cannon and the ringing of church-bells. Napoleon spent the day in revisiting the battle-field of Marengo, where he gave the Empress a mimic representation of the battle he had won five years before. From a throne he watched the manoeuvres executed under the command of Murat, Lannes, and Bessières. He had had the coat and hat he wore on the day of the battle brought from Paris. The coat was somewhat moth-eaten, and the odd hat would have seemed very much out of date if it had not recalled such precious memories. But Napoleon liked to recall that eventful day when he had managed to grasp victory when apparently beaten. After the manoeuvres he solemnly laid the corner-stone of a monument to the memory of Desaix and the other brave men who fell at Marengo.
At Alessandria, the next day, he had an interview with his brother Jerome, which in fact was a reconciliation. In 1808, after the breaking of the Peace of Amiens, Jerome Bonaparte, who then, a young man of twenty, was in the naval service, happened to be forced by an English cruiser to land in the United States. There he had fallen in love with the young and charming daughter of a rich merchant of Baltimore, Miss Elisabeth Paterson, and he married her. Napoleon was unwilling to recognize this marriage. No sooner had he ascended the throne than he at once exhibited all the feeling and prejudices of a monarch who belonged to a dynasty of the most venerable antiquity. He really believed that his brothers could marry only princesses, and that any other marriage was an unpardonable mésalliance.
If, possibly, Napoleon was able to condemn Lucien's wife for her past conduct, no such criticism could apply to the wife of Jerome, who was a young woman of conspicuous morality, intelligence, and amiability. But she was the daughter of a ship-owner, a merchant, and thus was not a proper match, he thought, for the brother of the powerful monarch who was already dreaming of restoring the vassal kingdoms and the whole vast imperial edifice of Charlemagne. He, the Emperor of the French, the King of Italy, did not like to remember that he had wedded a simple subject, and that he had been very proud of his marriage. He could not pardon his brother Jerome for making a love-match. He would not even listen to his defence of his young wife, soon to be a mother, and who deserved only respect and pity, and who, humiliated, abandoned, and brokenhearted, was about to be treated as a concubine, and driven away forever. Ambition had destroyed Napoleon's natural kindliness. Yet, if he had seen Jerome's wife, a devoted and interesting woman, warmly attached to her husband, and alive to her duties, probably he would have taken pity on her. Possibly he was himself aware of this, for he forbade the unhappy young woman to enter any part of the Empire, and compelled this innocent victim of political considerations to take refuge in England, as if she were a criminal.
February 22, 1805, Napoleon had compelled his mother, Madame Letitia, to place in the hands of a notary, Raguideau, a protest against Jerome's marriage, on the pretext that he, having been born November 15, 1784, was not yet twenty at the date of his marriage, and according to the law of September 20, 1792, a marriage contracted by any one under twenty without the consent of his father and mother was null and void. TheMoniteurof the 13th Ventôse, Year XIII. (March 4, 1805), had contained the following lines: "11th Ventôse. By an act dated to-day, all the civil officers of the Empire are forbidden to receive on their registers a copy of the certificate of an alleged marriage contracted by M. Jerome Bonaparte in a foreign country, when under age, and without his mother's consent, and without previous publication in the place where he is domiciled." A few days later this appeared in theMoniteur: "M. Jerome Bonaparte has arrived at Lisbon in an American ship; in the passenger list were the names of Mr. and Miss Paterson, M. Jerome at once took port for Madrid, Mr. and Miss Paterson have re-embarked. They are supposed to be returning to America."
Jerome, in obedience to the Emperor's orders, started from Portugal for Italy, posting day and night at full speed, through Badajoz, Madrid, Perpignan, and Grenoble, He says in his Memoirs: "Amid the mountains of Estremadura, his modest carriage encountered the almost royal train of the French Ambassador to Portugal. It was Junot whom he had left a simple aide-de-camp of the First Consul, and saw again one of the first personages of the Empire. Madame Junot, an old friend from childhood of Jerome, was with her husband. This interview was a most interesting one, partly from the deserted spot where they met, and partly from the great events that had occurred since their separation."
Junot and his wife found Jerome much improved. He had become more serious; a certain gravity had taken the place of his youthful bubbling high spirits. He spoke with emotion, respect, and affection of his young wife whose pathetic situation was made even more disturbing by the state of her health. He proposed to throw himself at his brother's feet, and by prayers and supplications to wring from him the consent he desired. "No one can doubt," he says in his Memoirs, "that his heart was torn by the keenest agitations, to say nothing of the anxiety about his wife; the mortification at two years of inactivity, during which his comrades, friends, and relatives had worked, fought, and become great; the regret for the lofty position he had lost; the hope of regaining it; his fear of his brother's wrath which he had ventured to arouse, and which made kings tremble on their thrones."
Napoleon was to be inflexible; he refused to admit that his brothers could be anything but members of the dynasty, future sovereigns. It was then that according to Miot de Mélito, he said: "What I have accomplished so far is nothing. There will be no peace in Europe until it is under a single head, an Emperor, who shall have his officers for kings and divide the kingdoms among his lieutenants; who shall make one King of Italy, another King of Bavaria, one Landemann of Switzerland, another Stadtholder of Holland, and all with high positions in the Imperial household, with titles as Grand Cupbearer, Grand Master of the Pantry, Grand Equerry, Grand Master of the Hounds, etc. It will be said that this plan is only an imitation of that on which the German Empire is established, and that these ideas are not new; but nothing is absolutely new; political institutions only revolve in a circle, and what has happened necessarily recurs." A man with such aspirations and so near to realizing them, could not endure the idea of being the brother-in-law of a simple ship-owner.
Jerome arrived at Turin, April 24, 1805. Napoleon was then at Alessandria. Eleven days passed before the brothers met. The Emperor had announced his decision. He was absolutely determined not to meet Jerome until he had made perfect submission. The unhappy youth still ventured to hope against hope, but soon he had to recognize his mistake. Then his heart and soul were torn by a hot conflict: on one side were his love for his wife, family feeling, the thought of the child that was soon to be born, his respect for marriage and for his vows; on the other, ambition, love of power, the visions of the kingdoms that he might rule; on one side, the smiles and tears of the woman he loved; on the other, the influence and glory of the genius who filled the earth with his fame, and always exercised a powerful fascination. Jerome, who was less sentimental and less proud than Lucien, at last yielded to his terrible brother, and condemned himself out of ambition never to see again the woman whom he loved and cherished. May 6th he went to Alessandria, having first sent a letter of submission to the Emperor. Napoleon before receiving him, replied to it in these terms:—
"Alessandria, May 6, 1805. MY BROTHER: Your letter of this morning informs me of your arrival at Alessandria. There is no fault which cannot be effaced in my eyes by repentance. Your marriage with Miss Paterson is null in the eyes of both religion and law. Write to Miss Paterson to return to America. I will grant her a pension of sixty thousand francs for life, on condition that she shall never bear my name, a right which does not belong to her in the non-existence of the marriage. You must tell her that you could not and cannot change the nature of things. When your marriage is thus annulled by your own will, I will restore to you my friendship, and resume the feelings I have had for you since your infancy, hoping that you will show yourself worthy of them by the efforts you will make to win my gratitude and to acquire distinction in the army."
A few days later Napoleon wrote to the Minister of the Navy: "M. Décrès, M. Jerome has arrived. He has confessed his errors and disavows this person as his wife. He promises to do wonders. Meanwhile I have sent him to Genoa for some time."
After his reconciliation with Jerome, Napoleon went to Pavia, where the magistrates presented to him the homage of his new capital, and he entered that city, with the Empress, May 8, amid the roar of cannon and the ringing of bells.
By descent, by his physical, moral, and intellectual nature, by his imagination and genius, Napoleon was much more an Italian than a Frenchman. His father and mother were Italians, his ancestors were Italian, and Italian was his mother-tongue. His family and Christian names were Italian. His mother spoke French with the strongest Italian accent. He had loved Corsica before he loved France. As a child, he had felt the greatest enthusiasm for Paoli, the Corsican patriot, and had then looked upon the French as foreigners and oppressors. His face not only resembled that of an Italian, but that of an ancient Roman. By a singular coincidence, he had the head of a Caesar. Italy was not only the home of his family, it was there that he laid the foundations of his glory. That unrivalled country, as one of our poets calls it, had brought him good fortune. There he wrote the famous bulletins of his first victories; there he began to impress the popular imagination; and it was through Italy that he subjugated France. There he felt at home. The people of that peninsula greeted him as a fellow-countryman. He liked to speak their language to them, charmed by its harmony and sincerity. His Southern genius rejoiced in its bright skies which lent everything such lustre, and well suited the conqueror's thoughts. He perhaps preferred Milan to Paris as a place to live in.
His formal entrance into the capital of his kingdom of Italy had been skilfully arranged. Cardinal Caprara, the Archbishop of that city, had great influence there, and he was never tired of speaking to his flock about the services Napoleon had rendered to the Catholic religion. The Grand Master of Ceremonies, M. de Ségur, who reached Milan a few days before the Emperor, charmed the best society of Lombardy by his pleasant wit and delightful manners, and induced the most illustrious families to solicit the honor of figuring among the ladies and officers in waiting at the palace of the King and Queen of Italy, as Napoleon and Josephine were called at Milan.
The first visit which the King and Queen made in this capital was to the famous Cathedral. There they fell on their knees, and the Milanese were much touched by the spectacle. TheItalian Journal, in its official account of Napoleon's entrance into Milan, uttered these dithyrambics: "It is impossible to imagine a more brilliant day than that which yesterday adorned our capital, when Bonaparte, the hero of the age, our adored monarch, entered within our walls. This day will be forever memorable in the chronicles of our history. Milan saw entering its gates, bearing the proud name of King, the same hero who had already been proclaimed conqueror, liberator, peace-maker, and legislator, and who to-day, under his august Empire, assures that greatness to which his victories and his genius permit us to aspire. The Emperor entered by the gate named after his most glorious triumph, the Marengo Gate."
On reaching Milan, Napoleon exchanged the decorations of the Legion of Honor for the oldest orders of chivalry in Europe. He received from the Minister of Prussia the Black and the Red Eagle; from the Spanish Ambassador, the Golden Fleece; from the Ministers of Bavaria and Portugal, the Orders of Saint Hubert and Christ respectively; and he gave them the broad ribbon of the Legion of Honor. When he had received besides foreign decorations for the principal men of the Empire, he granted an equal number of his own. May 12, wearing the broad ribbon of the Black Eagle, he went with the Empress to the theatre of La Scala and saw the opera ofCastor and Pollux. The theatre, which was brilliantly lit, was crowded with the fair ladies of Milan, resplendent in full dress and jewels. The elegance and splendor of these deservedly famous beauties, the brilliant diversity of the uniforms, the sumptuousness of the Imperial box, and on the stage the magnificence of the dresses and the scenery, the skill of the singers, all combined to make the performance most memorable. That day, after mass, Napoleon had ridden out, and had inspected the troops who paraded on the Place of the Cathedral.
The Empress's grace and affability aroused general admiration. At the reception of the upper clergy of Italy, May 25, she was thus complimented by the Archbishop of Bergamo: "Madame, If charity were to descend from heaven to relieve the woes of humanity, it would seek no other asylum than the heart of a Queen, adored by her subjects. The feelings of love, gratitude, and respect which animate all your subjects are the same that lead to your feet all the bishops of the kingdom of Italy. Happy to find in your august spouse sublimity, glory, and genius, and in you all the charm of kindness, nothing is left for them but to pray for the happiness of your reign, and to offer thanks to heaven for having united in the souls of their sovereigns everything which can make supreme power loved and respected." This speech will suffice to show to what pitch the official flatteries were tuned.
The coronation took place May 26, in the Milan. Cathedral, which is the largest church in Italy, with the single exception of Saint Peter's in Rome. The weather was magnificent. From early morning a numberless throng crowded the Place of the Cathedral, the court-yards of the palace, and the adjacent streets. Just as in Paris at the coronation, a wooden gallery had been built, connecting the Archbishop's Palace with Notre Dame, so here at Milan, a similar gallery led from the palace to the Cathedral. The interior of the church was decorated with crimson silk stuffs. As at Notre Dame, a large throne had been built at the entrance to the nave, approached by twenty-five steps. Four gilded statues, representing victories, upheld like caryatides the canopy above the throne. The four figures held in one hand palms; in the other, the green velvet mantle falling from the royal crown above the canopy. The Cathedral was brilliantly lit by forty chandeliers hanging from the roof, and as many candelabra fastened on the columns.
Josephine, who had been crowned as Empress in Paris, was not to be crowned at Milan, although she bore the title of Queen of Italy. She watched the ceremony from a gallery. At half-past eleven she went to the Cathedral, preceded by her sister-in-law, the Princess Bacciocchi, and was conducted beneath a canopy to her gallery, amid loud applause. At noon the Emperor and King left his palace, and reached the Cathedral through the wooden gallery. On his arrival there incense was burned, and he was welcomed by an address from Cardinal Caprara, Archbishop of Milan, at the head of all his clergy. Preceded by the ushers, the heralds-at-arms, the pages, the Grand Master and the masters of ceremonies, by the seven ladies carrying offerings, and by the honors of Charlemagne, of the Empire, and of Italy, he appeared in most impressive pomp. On his head he wore the crown; he carried in his hands the sceptre, and the hand of justice of the kingdom; on his back he wore the royal cloak, the skirts of which were carried by the two First Equerries of France and Italy. As he entered the Cathedral a march of triumph was played. He took his seat on the small throne in the choir, having on his right the honors of Italy, on his left, those of France. The Archbishop of Bologna, who held a place at the coronation of the King very like that of the Pope at the crowning of the Emperor, carried to the altar the iron crown of the old Lombard kings, and began the mass. After the gradual, he blessed the royal ornaments in the following order: the sword, the cloak, the ring, the crown. Napoleon received from the Archbishop's hands the sword, the cloak, and the ring, but he took himself the iron crown from the altar, and proudly placing it on his head, exclaimed, in a voice that thrilled all present: "Dio me la diede, guai a chi la tocca!"—"God has given it to me; woe to him who touches it!" Then, having replaced the iron crown on the altar, he took the crown of Italy and placed it on his head, amid unanimous applause. Preceded by the same officials who had conducted him to the chair, he walked down the nave and took his place on the great throne at the other end by the entrance. The first herald-at-arms shouted, "Napoleon, Emperor of the French and King of Italy, is crowned and enthroned. Long live the Emperor and King."
The same day, at half-past four in the afternoon, the King and the Queen drove in a state carriage, with a brilliant escort, to the church of Saint Ambrose, one of the most revered sanctuaries of Italy, and there they heard aTe Deumof thanksgiving.
Mademoiselle Avrillon, Josephine's reader, tells us that Napoleon, when he had returned to the palace, was full of the wildest gaiety. He rubbed his hands, and in his good humor said to the reader: "Well! Did you see the ceremony? Did you hear what I said when I placed the crown on my head?" Then he repeated, almost in the same tone that he had used in the Cathedral: "God has given it to me! Woe to him that touches it!" "I told him," says Mademoiselle Avrillon, "that nothing that had happened had escaped me. He was very kind to me, and I often noticed that when there was nothing to annoy the Emperor, he talked cheerfully and freely with us, as if we were his equals; but whenever he spoke to us he used to ask questions, and in order to avoid displeasing him, it was necessary to answer him without showing too much embarrassment. Sometimes he gave us a pat on the cheek, or pinched our ears; these were favors not accorded every one, and we could judge of his good humor by the way they hurt us…. Often he treated the Empress in the same way, with little pats preferably on the shoulders; it was no use her saying: 'Come, stop, Bonaparte!' he went on as long as he pleased."
The Emperor greatly enjoyed his stay in Milan, and breathed with rapture the incense burned in abundance before him. TheItalian Journalin its account of the coronation reached lyric heights:
"The most brilliant day has lit up Milan; it has had no equal in the past, and it offers the happiest auguries for the future…. Old men themselves, accustomed as they are to praise the past, have exhibited the liveliest enthusiasm. It was in vain that night struggled to draw its veil over our city, it had to yield before the general and magnificent illumination which brought out in lines of fire the shape and admirable form of the Duomo. Most of the palaces and private houses were covered with devices and inscriptions. The first one of the days consecrated to the liveliest national rejoicing was ended by a vast exhibition of fireworks, which were set off on the spot where so many have perished at the stake."
The next day games were celebrated, in the manner of the ancients, in a circus rivalling the Roman amphitheatres in size. This was the occasion of a dithyrambic outburst inserted in theMoniteur: "The Italians have just offered Napoleon the same spectacle that their ancestors offered Marcus Aurelius and Trajan; but the presence of Napoleon has called forth more joy and admiration, because it has aroused greater admiration and higher hopes. They were but the preservers of Italian greatness; he is its creator and its father. In the pomp of the games, amid the tumultuous applause, the immense mass of people were to be seen turning their eyes towards him alone, as if they were saying to him: 'These festivities are but feeble expressions of the gratitude that all Italy vows to you for all the good you have done her; and since you deign to accept it, since you like to sit among us as our Prince and our father, these festivities become an augury to us of still greater benefit. The day will perhaps come when Italy, restored to this new life, may be able to adorn its circus with the monuments of its own bravery which will also be the monuments of your glory; and Italy, being never doomed to perish, whatever great deeds may be wrought by Italians in the course of centuries will be due to the hero who has recalled them to life.'" After the races there was a balloon ascension. The courageous wife of the aeronaut Garnerin accompanied him and threw down flowers to Napoleon and Josephine. "Thus," theMoniteurgoes on, "in a single day, at one show, the Italians have combined the proudest pomp of the ancients and the boldest invention of modern science, together with the presence of a hero who excels both ancients and moderns."
The 29th of May was devoted to popular festivities. All the afternoon the public gardens were crowded with musicians, singers, mountebanks, and pedlars. In the evening the via della Riconoscenza, as far as the East Gate, was lit by lampstands, and at the end of a long row there was an eagle of fire holding on his breast an iron crown.
Nothing was neglected to touch the national pride of Italy. An article in theMoniteur, speaking of a poem of Vincenzo Monti's, said: "What interest the poet has aroused, in recalling the glorious titles of ancient Italy, the disasters and degradation which followed this period of glory, in evoking the shades of those remote days, and after them, the shade of Dante who, by the wisdom of his maxims, is superior to the poets of other nations; of Dante, the most enthusiastic admirer of the former glory of the Italians, the severest censor of the corruption into which Italy had fallen in his time; of Dante, whose sole ambition was to prepare the new birth of Italy! And how did he prepare it? By preaching union to the inhabitants of the different countries of Italy, and to the public authorities the consecration of power modified by the laws."
June 3 Napoleon and Josephine went to visit an industrial and artistic exhibition at the Brera. There they saw Canova's Hebe, and his colossal statue of Clement XIII. "The desire of seeing and approaching the sovereign," says theMoniteur, "had made the crowd larger. An octogenarian who had in vain struggled to get to a staircase before him, was hustled and knocked down on the steps by the eager multitude. The Empress, who was following, ran to his aid. The Emperor turned back, questioned the old man, who was more disturbed by his joy than by his fall, asked him his name and a memorandum, and promised to look out for him. This scene produced a deep impression, and Their Majesties were led back amid universal applause and thanksgivings."
At Milan, Josephine, who had become Queen of Italy, inhabited, with the Emperor, the magnificent Monza Palace. But, perhaps, in all the splendor of the highest point of her good fortune, she regretted the Serbelloni Palace, where, nine years before, she exercised so beneficent an influence on her husband's destiny, and had protected him with her affection, as with a talisman. Doubtless the Empress and Queen would have returned gladly to the time when she was called simply Citizeness Bonaparte. Then, instead of the imperial and royal diadem, she possessed youth, which is better than any crown, and her husband gave her something preferable to any throne—his love! There the generals used to wear less showy uniforms, more moderate salaries, but they were more enthusiastic, and unselfish. Then Bonaparte's glory was less famous, but purer. When she saw Milan again, after many years' absence, Josephine recalled all the happiness and all the misery that had occurred meanwhile, all the grandeur and the tragedy that had filled this period so brief, but so crowded with marvellous events.
There were many happy memories, but also many shadows! This look backward was not without melancholy. When she saw the approach of the autumn of her amazing career, Josephine could not think without secret sadness of the splendor of its summer. While her husband proudly enjoyed his satisfied ambition, she dreamed and pondered seriously. She desired once more to see the places which recalled the pleasantest memories of her first journey: the lake of Como, with the Villa Julia and Pliny's house; the Lago Maggiore and Borromean Islands; the palaces of the Isola Bella and the Isola Madre; all the enchanting spots which recalled the gracious memories of youth and love.
June 7 Napoleon appointed Eugene de Beauharnais Viceroy of the Kingdom of Italy, and three days later left Milan with Josephine. In all the principal cities of the Empire his coronation had been celebrated by public rejoicings. Murat had given a ball at his castle of Neuilly, about which theJournal des Débatshad said: "At the same moment when the arts of ingenious Italy were displaying all their marvels under the eyes of Their Majesties, French gallantry and gaiety were rendering similar homage to the happy reign which had recalled them from a long exile." Aix-la-Chapelle inaugurated the statue of the great Carlovingian Emperor amid salvos of artillery and the applause of the Germanic populace, who saluted at the same time the names of Charlemagne and of Napoleon.
The Italian journey closed as brilliantly as it began. After leaving Milan, Napoleon approached the frontiers of Austria, against which he was to fight before the end of the year, visiting the celebrated quadrilateral, consisting of the four fortified towns: Mantua, Peschiera, Verona, and Legnago. He was present at a mimic representation of the battle of Castiglione, in which twenty-five thousand men took part on the field upon which that battle had been fought; then he went to Bologna, where the charms of his conversation were highly appreciated by the learned professors of its university. While he was there a deputation from Lucca visited him, asking him to take that little country under his protection. He gave it for Prince and Princess, his brother-in-law, Felix Bacciocchi, and his sister Elisa, to whom he had already entrusted the Duchy of Piombino. Lucca was thus elevated to a hereditary principality, a dependent of the French Empire, which should revert to the French crown in case the male line of the Bacciocchi should become extinct. It was a sort of revival of the old Germanic fiefs. Evidently the memory of Charlemagne continually filled Napoleon's thoughts. Elisa thenceforth bore the title of Princess of Lucca and of Piombino. She was a well educated and able woman, of marked intelligence and strong will. M. de Talleyrand used to call her "the Semiramis of Lucca." After Bologna, Napoleon visited Modena, Parma, and Piacenza. The cities he passed through rivalled one another in flattery. They voted him medals, statues, and even a temple, which, however, the demi-god declined.
June 30 Napoleon and Josephine arrived at Genoa, where they were to stay till July 7, amid unprecedented festivities celebrating the incorporation of the old Republic with the French Empire. It was a singular sight, this enthusiastic reception of a Corsican by the Genoese. While at Milan, the Emperor had received M. Durazzo, the last Doge of Genoa, who had come to beg him to permit the illustrious Republic, famous for its historical splendor, to exchange its independence for the honor of becoming a plain French department. The offer was accepted. The home of Andrea Doria, the city of marble palaces, that municipality once called "the superb" had begged as a favor to be stricken from the list of independent states. It contented itself with being the principal town in the twenty-seventh military division, and its doge, dispossessed by his own desire, went to swell the number of the Senators of the Empire. Napoleon took formal possession of his peaceful conquest, and slept in the palace, and in the bed of Charles V.
The night festivity, given in the harbor, July 2, was, in the way of picturesqueness, one of the most original and most beautiful ever seen. The sky was clear, the sea calm, the crowd of spectators enormous. Napoleon and Josephine, going down from the terrace in the garden of the Palazzo Doria, entered a large round temple, magnificently decorated, which was at once set in motion as if by magic, and transported by many oars to the middle of the harbor. Four rafts, covered with shrubbery, resembling floating islands, then drew up to the temple. The sovereigns were thus, in open sea, enclosed in a vast garden with trees, flowers, statues, and fountains. About this garden of Armida, thus radiant upon the waves, were a multitude of boats, under sail or propelled by oars, moving about, and their lights resembled the swarms of fireflies that in summer flutter above the fields of Lombardy. The mild temperature favored this joyous festival. The whole city, all the buildings, every vessel, were ablaze with a thousand lights, and the glassy sea reflected numberless flames. The darkness of night gave the signal for the illuminations. Magnificent fireworks were set off from the mole, the jetty, and the ships lining the entrance of the harbor. Music mingled with the joyous cries of the multitude. The temple in which were Napoleon and Josephine was rowed back to the terrace of the Palazzo Doria amid the applause of the crowd lining the shore.
The next day the Emperor and Empress were at a ball given in the old Ducal Palace. "The presence of Their Majesties in this superb building," says theMoniteur, "the kindness with which they deigned to speak to every one, gave this festivity a touching character. All who saw and heard our sovereigns, rejoiced in their new destinies. The concert was followed by a ball, and Their Majesties stayed through the several dances, leaving about midnight. Their path was lit by numberless candles. On their way they met a multitude, delighted even at that hour, to be able to discern some of our monarch's features."
In spite of all these splendid ceremonies Josephine, though idolized, was not happy. "In general," Mademoiselle Avrillon says with justice, "the public has a very faint knowledge of the real feelings of those in the highest station. Being often on show, they are obliged to assume a fictitious character, just as they dress themselves for great ceremonies. I have seen the Empress's sufferings, whom nothing could console for her separation from her children, whom she loved above everything. Ambitions were less to her than maternal love, her strongest feeling. The thought of leaving her son in Italy, the fear of never seeing him again, or the certainty of seeing him seldom, made her shed tears." One day when she was in more distress than usual, Napoleon said to her: "You are crying, Josephine; that's absurd; you are crying because you are going to be separated from your son. If the absence of your children gives you so much pain, judge what I must suffer. The affection you show them makes me feel most acutely my unhappiness in having none." These words sounded in Josephine's ears like a funeral knell. She saw the spectre of divorce rising before her, and turned pale. From Genoa they went to Turin. Napoleon heard there of the coalition preparing against him, and left suddenly for France with Josephine. Non-commissioned officers of the Grenadiers and the Chasseurs of the Guard served as escort, but they were unable to keep up with the carriages, so the Emperor thanked them for their zeal and pushed on without them. He did not stop once for twenty- four hours. Josephine, who never tormented her husband by complaining, did not say a word about the fatigues of this quick journey. After an absence of a hundred days, they reached Fontainebleau, July 11. No one expected them and no preparations had been made for their reception. Their departure from Turin had been so recent, and it resembled a flight. The Emperor did not wish to be recognized on the way, and burst into Fontainebleau like a bombshell. The palace porter was an old servant, named Guillot, who had been Napoleon's cook in Egypt. "Well," the Emperor said to him, "you must go back to your old business and cook us some supper." Fortunately the porter had in his sideboard some mutton-chops and eggs. He set to work, and Napoleon ate this improvised meal with great relish. Josephine borrowed some linen from one of her old chambermaids. The Emperor asked for a full account of everything that had happened in Paris during his absence, and began to draw up the plans which were to be accomplished at Austerlitz before the end of the year. July 18, at one in the afternoon, he arrived at Saint Cloud, accompanied by the Empress, amid the roar of the cannon at the Invalides. That evening they went into the city, called on Napoleon's mother, and went to the opera, where thePrétenduswas given; the audience greeted them most warmly. After all the splendor of the Italian festivities the time had come for military preparations and warlike thoughts.